


Enjolras and Three Drinks in Hell

by Gokurakutei, Patronus_Stag



Series: LesMis Stories by Gokurakutei [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, M/M, Religious Content, Screenplay/Script Format, Translation, Translation from Chinese, Victor Hugo Pastiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gokurakutei/pseuds/Gokurakutei, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patronus_Stag/pseuds/Patronus_Stag
Summary: Enjolras was made to have three drinks in hell, before returning to his ever-lasting revolution (and quarrels) with R.





	Enjolras and Three Drinks in Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [安灼拉与地狱里的三杯酒](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11508672) by [Gokurakutei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gokurakutei/pseuds/Gokurakutei). 



> The story took place after the barricade in Hugo’s novel, when Enjolras visited the hell to look for an old acquaintance.

 

*** 

[In a dim and shabby tavern, the bartender is wiping the glasses inattentively. Enter Enjolras, opens the door and comes in. Distant noises are heard from outside.

 

ENJOLRAS    Good evening.

BARTENDER    Good evening, sir. Did you see someone before entering the door?

ENJOLRAS    A black dog almost a man’s height stopped me, and drew out a contract from his coat. I was only allowed to enter after signing it.

BARTENDER    And what did the contract ask from you?

ENJOLRAS    It asked nothing.

BARTENDER    That is curious.

ENJOLRAS    Every word on that ragged old parchment was in disarray, forming unintelligible sentences. The only thing I could make out was my name.

BARTENDER    It should be so. That parchment follows the logic of nightmares. May I have your name, sir?  
   
ENJOLRAS    My name is Enjolras.  
   
BARTENDER    …Enjolras

ENJOLRAS    Why, you know me?

BARTENDER    Oh, (gives an amusing blow to his mustache) I know everyone who has come here, and everyone who hasn’t come, yet is here already.

ENJOLRAS    You mean everything is certain?

BARTENDER    I mean we have everything here, except certainty——do you still have your pocket watch? May I have the fortune to know the time from you?

ENJOLRAS    Please wait a moment. (reaches for the pocket watch and looks at it) No. I  
think it is broken——the hands are moving like drunkards in the alley.

BARTENDER   In that you are treating it wrong——like I said, everything is here, except certainly.

ENJOLRAS    I see.  
   
BARTENDER    Don’t you find it weird? When people finally realize it, half of them want to know where is Pilatus. Think about it, Pilatus! When they were alive, who would mention his name except those preachers and dry old pedants! By the way, if you are also curious, feel free to look down the patio. The spring had ran out in the first millennium, after that he has to wash his hands with his own tears.

ENJOLRAS    I’d rather focus on my own work.  
   
BARTENDER    Ah, yes. Of course you are here for some reason. But then, this dingy little tavern is not your place.  
I don't want to be arbitrary, anyone who sees it will agree with me. You can see the swarms of flies, whose sneering is as loud as a dozen of dying old dogs. Rats are blatantly running over the stoves and dead people’s feet. Prisoners and scums, with their rotten limbs, compete to drink horse urine in the corner of death row. The ugliness that you can’t imagine, but I witness every day is singing and marching gleefully along the moldy counter. For those unfortunate fellows who were meant to be saved, but happen to enter this place—even if they just have a tiny drop of Stygian soil on their boots, or a single breath of the poisonous gas from the lake of sulphur—their soul will collapse into a pile of mud, right on the spot.

And you, have you borrowed the startling guts from Prometheus to dare to step on this land. Your place is above the sky, in the top box. We have no place reserved for you there. A man like you should be bathed in the golden beams of Apollo, worshipped by Jacob with his sacrifice, sang by Michael the archangel. Mercury will be your attendant, and Aphrodite will bend over to anoint your feet—forgive me for meddling with pagan gods. In my most humble eyes, how can you be promised with a mere paradise? You deserve the Mount Olympus, you are worthy of the Pantheon.

ENJOLRAS    You sound like someone I know.

BARTENDER    Oh, your friend?

  
ENJOLRAS    Yes. Speaking of this, I’m looking for him. If you don’t have any clues here, I’ll hurry on to the next tavern.

BARTENDER    Ha, well said! That friend of yours would never have thought that one day, you will be anxious to find another tavern. Please don’t be angry, my good sir. Please sit down. Believe me, I may know the answer to your question.

ENJOLRAS    (sits down reluctantly) There seems to be nothing that you don’t know. Who are you?  
   
BARTENDER    You are flattering me. Being omniscient is the business of God—as to me, you will know in a short time. (pours a glass of liquor in front of Enjolras) Please, you should take this drink, and the next two. I promise everything will then be clear as crystal.

ENJOLRAS    Beer?  
   
BARTENDER    Yes, a strong stout. Wine is only a moderate inspirer of daydreams. In the matter of inebriety, there is black magic and white magic. Wine is only white magic, thus can’t be tolerated in here. For now, just let the common stout moisten your noble lips.

ENJOLRAS    (in disgust) Hmm…  
   
BARTENDER    I know you‘ve always led an abstinent life, and have never touched liquor. But goodman once said—“One sure sign of truth is its cruelty. Can there be a fire that does not burn?” Just like in every revolution, you need to make some small sacrifices to achieve your goal.

ENJOLRAS    Your words are making me feel uncomfortable.  
   
BARTENDER    Which doesn’t make it less true. (rises the glass with Enjolras) For your health! (shakes off the skin of bartender, exposes goat’s horns)  
   
ENJOLRAS    (drinks up with difficulty, then looks up) …Thou are the Devil!

DEVIL    Fair enough, now you are dropping the honourifics.

ENJOLRAS    I’ve never thought about whether I should use “You” to address the devil.

DEVIL    You are an honest man indeed. Now, I want to know your impression about my underground realm along the way.

ENJOLRAS    On the way here, I saw both filthy alleys and splendid pinnacles. There were thieves and robbers that cast greedy eyes on others’ property, as well as gentlemen and ladies sitting stately in the carriage. There were sly swindlers, as well as kind old men who gave out bread. In fact, I can not tell the difference between the hell and the world of men.

DEVIL   You’ve spoken quite the opposite, my good sir, it should be there’s no difference between the world of men and the hell.  
   
ENJOLRAS    That’s hardly a new insight.  
   
DEVIL    You are right. After all, it was you who once tried to bring heaven to the earth.

ENJOLRAS    I will reserve my opinions about “once”. But this place does confuse me— goodmen, bishops and friars have all said that it should a lake of unquenchable flames and undying worms.

DEVIL    After thousands of years, these little lambs still haven’t rid of the bad habit, keep telling tales about things they never know. I’ll put it this way—even there is one sparkle that can warm this icy abyss, I will start to burn incense and pray, on behalf of all my subjects, to those who have ever told the story.

ENJOLRAS    But to me, the winter here is not half as harsh as that in Paris. The winter in Paris is a life-thirsty monster. It devours poor boys sleeping under the carriages, chews the boney hands of washerwomen, crushes coal workers together with their shabby huts. Whereas here, all is mild and tranquil. There’s not even a swirl of northern wind.

DEVIL    That is its appearance in your eyes. Each soul has it’s own temperature. Do you see the downy flakes of ashes falling outside the window?

ENJOLRAS    I thought they were snow mixed with cinder.  
   
DEVIL    Ha, they are the shattered souls that can’t endure the terrible coldness of hell.

ENJOLRAS    (shocked) What?

DEVIL    You imagine coldness to be frozen land and heavy snow, but we don't need them here. Coldness has already taken away everything.  
(points at the corner) That cluster of wild grass growing from the wall, the farthest corner. Its leaves were covered with frost like the nebula in deadman’s eye. But that is not a wild grass, or, not any more. It has long been frozen into grits and dust. What is growing there is a mere shell, an impression. This is the land of death and silence in the literal sense. You may not have noticed, but every single soul around you, who are yet to become dust—yes, including the thieves and robbers, gentlemen and ladies, swindlers and old men, including all these rowing drunkards here—is shivering in everlasting coldness, suffering from freezing pain without a second of rest.

Unfortunately, their desperation will foster the cold, so the more painful they are, the more jolly they force themselves to be. Everyday here is a carnival, you must rejoice endlessly, manically, or you will face destruction.

ENJOLRAS    (frowns) The logic here is indeed the logic of a mad nightmare.  
   
DEVIL    (in a singing tune) “Yes, exactly. Everyone need to be mad, must make everyone mad, as fast as you can!” (pours wine) Please, here’s the second one.

ENJOLRAS   What is it?  
   
DEVIL    This one is absinth. The painters love it like they love Muse. After several glasses of the green venom, truth won’t matter any more. Think of Ares in his chariot bolting past your window, Salome performing the Dance of the Seven Veils, Dionysus pouring nectar into your glass. Moses shakes his cane and the cloud parts. Hera's sweet milk flows through the black universe.

ENJOLRAS    In other words, as you said a moment ago, to go mad. Forgive my bluntness, I do not intend to give up my sanity, even in hell.  
   
DEVIL    Yet, please think about it. Have you felt anything after drinking that full glass of strong stout.  
   
ENJOLRAS   At first, I thought it would at least warm the stomach, but now I feel I’ve swallowed a glass of icy-cold stones.  
   
DEVIL    Exactly, and considering that you saw through my cover as soon as you took the first sip, it surely doesn’t take away sanity.  
   
ENJOLRAS    That’s true, but I don’t understand the logic of it. Everything needs to have some logic behind.

DEVIL    (a laughter) You sound more like Combeferre.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (annoyed, waves his hand) Anyway, words aren’t doing any good. Please give me the glass.

  
DEVIL Here—(quickly draws back his hand, which almost touches Enjolras’) Beware! You must always remember my name. My gaze is the gaze of the abyss; my smile has the same effect as Medusa’s grin. Cerberus is raised in my belly, and that who hold my hand will fall into hell for eternity.  
(whispers) However, much do I envy those mortal young painters selling sketches in the park—under the warm sun and the cool shadow of the trees, smiling at the blushing girl who came to him out of admiration, and says: I do not want your Écus and francs, guess what, I’ll trade my paint for a kiss.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (finishes the drink quickly) Sorry, are you speaking to me? I didn’t quite catch it. I’ve finished the drink.  
   
DEVIL    Thank you, (rises his glass) to your beauty.  
   
ENJOLRAS    What?  
    
DEVIL    Faust, have you read it? “Stay a while, you are so beautiful” If it were you, I would speak so. I will speak those words the second you enter. However, a Faust who is played Mephistophilis won’t have angels to welcome him back. Just think about the end, when the sky turns dazzling gold, sacred music descends from the cloud, causing men to shudder. You looks up for a long while, till your neck is painful, when a reluctant voice finally comes from above: Apologies, we’ve made a mistake. Your name is not on the list. Then is the confusion made by the retreating of heavenly soldiers, and everybody starts to feel awkward, including yourself.

ENJOLRAS    I don’t understand what you are talking about.  
   
DEVIL    You don’t understand, because you are living above the cloud. You are the archangel, who is too impatient, and weighs people’s souls ere the judgement day. Do you have impression for a Le Cabuc? Le Cabuc, people also called him Claquesous.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (shakes his head once) I don’t remember.  
   
DEVIL    (laugh out loud) You should be glad that Le Cabuc is not here. You shot him with your own gun, yet forgot his name altogether. Your place is certainly among the merciless ancient deities.

ENJOLRAS    If you really are the devil, you would know I was acting against my heart at that time. If there was any other way, who would slaughter his own countryman on the streets?  
   
DEVIL    Who do you think was Le Cabuc?

ENJOLRAS    You said I shot him, should be an army officer then. 

DEVIL    I’m afraid not. You see, Le Cabuc was the very first one who shed his blood in front of you, who forced you to become Cain.

ENJOLRAS    Now I remember it.

DEVIL    You declared that at the same time you judged the murderer, you had also judged yourself—what did you sentence yourself at that time?

ENJOLRAS    I sentenced myself to death as well.  
   
DEVIL    A death for a death. You judged your revolutionary partners by the same principle. A death for a death. You convinced them to take up the guns and to kill, then lie dead in front of the guns, just like yourself.

ENJOLRAS    Are there revolutions that don’t need blood and sacrifice? I respected their decisions, however…I’ve never wanted them to die. No one even mentions that word at the very beginning. We didn’t have enough power, and failed, that is the end.  
   
DEVIL    What a terrible end— a group of dead man for a failed revolution. (lifts his voice) Revolution! You must love this word very dearly, a word born from blood and gunpowder. This leads us to where everything began— you and your friends often talk about ninety-three, then you must know the iconic figure of it—Madame Guillotine. Sturdy wooden frames, some of them would also have a platform underneath, in order to better accept the cheers from the crowd. A razor-sharp blade, some basic physics that an old carpenter can master, with a bulk basket to collect the red berries—and it’s all done! You see, it was not hard at all. Madame Guillotine was not some ruling class lady with powdered heavy wig and painted moles on her face. Madame Guillotine was a lady of the people. She was passionate, with voice sweet and brisk, her embrace open to anyone, her lips in a blood shade, just like any female bartender in Paris. Revolution! The beautiful and ruthless lady called on the stage. Dionysus's huge projection suddenly jumped up and exploded above the square. Then a violent shower of grape wine, with a rusty taste, soaked everyone from head to foot. People underneath were dazzled, a warm burning rising in their chest. They couldn’t help but wave their fists and cry out in one voice as if drunk: Revolution! You are familiar with what was about to follow. Wailing Pentheus torn into pieces in a frenzy by his own mother and sisters, white-eyed skulls stabbed high up on a truncheon for people to watch. And Madame Guillotine smiled, her blood-red lips widened into a grin. Then came another round of revelry. This is the revolution you love!

ENJOLRAS    I can not agree with your metaphor. The revolution did come with many terrible crimes, and the result might deviate from the original goal and even go farther astray. However, if no one tries to push for the change at the start, people may still be trapped in the darkness of ignorance, praying to some capricious god for protection. They had prayed for tens of centuries, did it ever work? The innocent still suffer from hunger and humiliation. They lie in the pool of mud mixed with their own blood, trampled by pedestrians, devoured by street dogs and flies, frozen by ice and snow, and their marrow gradually sucked out by the roots of giant trees and wild grass. Day after day, year after year. Is this justice? Compare to kneeling down and pray, I’d rather rise up and resist. People say that you’ll die if you stand up; stay on your knees, at least you can live. But are crooked spines and mortifying tears somehow nobler than the hot blood shed? There are people who stay quietly on their knees but still crushed and spitted by those above, and eventually die a meaningless death under an impetuous whip. Is this justice?

(fist clenches on the table) No, I will not take it. Someone will need to stand up for a change. Some one must stand up.  
   
DEVIL    You think about moving Marianne’s statue too lightly. You want to build a modern Babel, but what you dedicate is a slaves’ effort to build pharaoh’s pyramids. First you sweat for the Tower, next you will shed tears for it. In the end, they will shamelessly demand for your blood.

ENJOLRAS    Still, I must do it. I cannot stop.  
   
DEVIL    Oh, (grins) because your God won’t let you stop?  
   
ENJOLRAS    Because I myself will not stop. I build the Babel not to kiss the sole of God, but to transform Eden into Men’s Eden, which is what I often say, the future. “From where shall we rise the call, if not on the summit of sacrifice?”*

DEVIL    (sighs) You are an idealist through and through. You have too high an expectation for mankind. As long as there are still greed and ignorance in their nature, the wars will never come to an end. Your Republic shall never be a true Republic. Sins are not dust from the streets, but filth grown in men’s skin and mouths. I can even say that, as long as mankind exists, the future you want will never come.

ENJOLRAS    However, I also believe, that as along as mankind exists, the flame of progress will never die—there will aways be people who volunteer to pull the statue, and let the ropes sink deep into their shoulders.

DEVIL    (shakes his head) It seems that I can not persuade you, and you certainly don’t belong here. (pours liquor) This is the last glass, a brandy sharp as blade. After finishing it, You should return to the glory of God.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (drinks without hesitation) Now, I have fulfilled my part, it is time for you to keep your promise.

DEVIL    Why should you care so much about a drunkard? I planned to convince you to give up on him when taking the three drinks, but since you have no intention to do so, I’ll just tell you the truth: Grantaire is locked up here forever, this is like not the end of Faust—

(waves his hand haughtily) Once a soul falls into my hand, even God himself won’t be able to take him away.

ENJOLRAS    (rises up resolutely) I don’t think so.

DEVIL    You! (rises his voice) You do not know who you are talking to—I am the anti-Christ, an ancient serpent, King of the world, I am—

ENJOLRAS    I know, you are Grantaire.

    
[The tavern and drunkards dissipated like foams. The devil’s disguise shatters and turns back to Grantaire. The architectures in the underworld city casting depressing shadows on both men.]

  

GRANTAIRE    (awkward) …hey, Enjolras.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (indifferent) I think you do owe me an explanation about this.  
   
GRANTAIRE    …I know my strings had long been cut, but you are different. Like I said at the start, you deserve Mount Olympus and the Pantheon—I thought words from the devil himself can change your mind, make you turn away by your own choice.  
   
ENJOLRAS    Apart from the slim chance for such absurdity to be successful, your amateur performance is hardly convincing.  
   
GRANTAIRE    I cowered the moment you entered the room. A second ago I was all confident, but the next moment, I felt like my spine was plucked out by you. That was you, calm, stately, grave, the unshakable authority of god. I was hung on a tree. I was Marsyas, skin flayed by Apollo, bones extracted by Enjolras.

ENJOLRAS    (impatient) Now I understand the devil’s part, but why the bartender at first?  
   
GRANTAIRE    (scratches head embarrassingly) You see, as the old saying goes, “the devil can be a good brother and the best drinking friend” —There’s certainly a tiny bit of selfishness. I’m afraid that you will not talk that much to my normal appearance. However, if you had seen through me from the start, why take the drinks?  
   
ENJOLRAS    Our aims are opposite, but means are the same.  
   
GRANTAIRE    You want to convince me instead? (smiles bitterly) —Your speech has never changed since the barricade, dry and ineffective, more of an official report than a speech—You will say that I was never sober when you speak. I was a brazen wine-cask, whose belly was filled with heedless nonsense, but you are a white-hot sword, that engraves each and every word into my planks. Please believe me, I had never missed one word of yours despite being drunk.

ENJOLRAS    I believe you.

GRANTAIRE    (speechless) —You believe me…? But at that time you said—  
   
ENJOLRAS    “Grantaire, you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death.”  
   
GRANTAIRE    (flinches as if stabbed by a knife) Yes.  
   
ENJOLRAS    (talks in a more gentle tone) When I speak of belief, it also means freedom. These two support, and result in each other. They are at the same time the start and the end. In the past, you always talked about believing, but you covered your own eyes, trapped your own soul in a prisoner cell. That is why I say you don’t believe in anything.

(looks at Grantaire) You must first be free, before you can say you believe in me.  
   
GRANTAIRE    (retreats, small voice) I am in hell, Enjolras. Freedom is the most absurd topic here. We have different ways. Your ladder towards heaven has been set in the middle of wildness, while my Acheron will keep flowing until eternity. You must leave the wall of Sodom at once and never look back. Enjolras, you should rule the earth in your own temple, with iron sword and silver scales in your hands, all kinds of flowers and luxurious fur at your feet. People should sing for you, and devote their sacrifices and youth to your statue. While I, I deserve to slumber in the bottom silt of the river of tears, waiting for the body to rot. My stomach will be burnt by the fire of sulphur, and my skin will crack under the ice and snow. (shrugs) Of course, you don’t need to worry about it. So long as there’s wine for me to drink, I can keep mocking the dim light of the underworld for thousands of years to come.  
   
ENJOLRAS    I am not trying to drag you up, or staying here with you and fall.  
   
GRANTAIRE    What, can there be a third way?  
   
ENJOLRAS    Yes, there is one.

GRANTAIRE    (falters) Do you believe in God?

ENJOLRAS    Which God are you talking about? The one in the Old Testament or the New Testament? Or Combeferre’s God, or Jehan’s God?  
   
GRANTAIRE    What a sacrilegious reply! You think yourself radiant with light, that you need not to fear being banished from heaven and depraved of the eternal rest?

ENJOLRAS    Do people go to heaven to get eternal rest?

GRANTAIRE   Well？

ENJOLRAS    I do not want the eternal rest. My soul has never stopped to struggle. My soul is unwilling to stop the struggle. As long as there are still oppressed souls and persecuted wills in this world, how would I indulge myself in the glory of salvation, close my eyes and sleep in peace. If this is heaven, how is heaven for me different from hell?

You asked if I believe in God. Yes, I do, but I don’t believe God truly exist. I do not accept the world given by him to mankind. I absolutely won’t accept this world packed with misery and injustice. I will never stop, so long as I be.

GRANTAIRE    (in a low voice) …… But you are already dead, Enjolras. We are all dead.  
   
ENJOLRAS    No, you haven’t understood. There is no such thing as death. Death is a lie.  
   
GRANTAIRE    What?

ENJOLRAS    People see the deterioration of the body, and make up a concept of “death”. But nothing truly dies, neither are we. You can be free as long as you want it. I didn’t understand it either until I came here. Look around you, Grantaire.

 

[All the settings collapse, only a beam of light is on them]

 

GRANTAIRE    (looks around at loss) ……the hell is gone—but—  
   
ENJOLRAS    Now you see it. Hell is a lie, so is heaven. Only people are real. Only us are real.

GRANTAIRE    …But if there is no heaven nor hell, what’s the meaning of us? Where should we go?

ENJOLRAS    Remember what I said, the third way? Where we are going is neither heaven nor hell—we are returning to the earth.

GRANTAIRE    The earth!

ENJOLRAS    The choice is not an easy one. You must know, unlike in heaven or in hell, we will never get rest in the world of men. We will have no sleep, we will always hold our weapons, always burnt in the earthly fire full of troubles, yet also full of hope. (approaching)—And you, will you come together with me?

GRANTAIRE    (lips trembling) …Here is an Enjolras who stand for justice, which means we need another Combeferre who stands for kindness, or Courfeyrac for passion. Yet you choose a Grantaire who stands for talking nonsense.  
   
ENJOLRAS    Of course, I have my principles, and you have your irony. We are incompatible like fire and water, and because of it, you assume only death can unite us from the opposing ends. But it is not so, what connects us is not the muzzles of the oppressors, but ourselves—We make our own choice. (eyes fixed on each other)In my opinion, Grantaire, no matter the circumstances, we will always make the same decision in the end.

(calmly) which means, at last, you will still choose to stand by me, and I will definitely choose to hold your hand.  
   
GRANTAIRE    (aside) Enjolras, at that last night, I saw you, like a traveller who had been walking alone in the darkness for centuries. Around you were the endless shadows of Paris, the fatigue and wounds of France. But you were vigorous, your cheeks were always fresh and rosy, and your countenance solemn and resolute. Then came the first light, you rose up your head. You moved with the sun, you were bright as the sun. I almost forgot how to breathe. At that instant, I was the turbulent waves in the ocean, simply boiled and turned into vapor by a blazing sun. I thought I was already dead. I thought that I, with my broken eyes, had already sunk into the street beneath me covered with gunpowder and mud. But I quickly woke up again. From that time, I know I will follow you wherever you go. But only just now did I understood the reason of it—now, everything is clear—

(trembling all over) I… I believe in you.

ENJOLRAS    (smiles) So, you are free.  
 

 [light goes out]  
 

 

 

 

fin.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> First post of the style challenge-50s translationese (翻译腔). It can be seen as a prequel to my other modern AU “The Next Barricade” and (pseudo)fairytale "The heart of Enjolras, the porcelain doll ".
> 
> Translator's note：  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Yesterday, my friend recommended me this story as "the best ER fic ever". I was curious at first, then entirely fell for it. I immediately decided to translate it, and the hurried outcome is above.  
> English is not my first language, and I'm notoriously careless about grammar. I'll keep reviewing it, and all feedbacks and corrections are welcome. (Considering it's my second attempt to translate from Chinese, plz be gentle /qwq
> 
> About the title  
> (I didn't realize it until Gokurakutei kindly pointed it out, and it does greatly enhance the reading experience. )
> 
> The plot about “three drinks” alludes to Hugo’s novel. They were what Grantaire drank in a mixture before the barricade was built outside Corinth.  
> “…that frightful mixture of brandy, stout, and absinth, which produces such terrible lethargy. It is from these three vapours, beer, brandy, and absinth, that the lead of the soul is formed.”［4,12,2］Wilbour’s translation.
> 
> Another interesting point is that, though the English version just says “the lead of the soul”, the Chinese translation specifies that “soul” is Grantaire’s, putting it as “the lead of his soul/他灵魂的铅块” (perhaps by mistake, but it does inspire thoughts about the author’s design. Grantaire offers Enjolras his soul part by part, and Enjolras consents to take them. hmmm


End file.
